


Five Times Veneziano Saw England Play the Piano, and One Time He Played Too

by EspecialSnowflake



Series: APH Rarepair Week 2017 [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 5 Times, APH Rare Pair Week, APH Rare Pair Week 2017, M/M, Music, Piano, disappointing descriptions, fast-paced
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 13:13:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12059697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EspecialSnowflake/pseuds/EspecialSnowflake
Summary: APH Rare Pair Week 2017 Day 2: MusicVeneziano didn't know England played the piano, but it was beautiful. He wanted to play music with him.





	Five Times Veneziano Saw England Play the Piano, and One Time He Played Too

**Author's Note:**

> This is my OTP, oh my divinities I used a whole day to write this, what

_**The first time Veneziano saw England play the piano**_ was at the end of the second World War.

 

The participating countries had met to discuss the aftermath. They finished in a few hours, but as their planes would not leave until midnight or so, they chose to stay in the building to spend the time they had.

 

As hasty individuals had organised the conference, they'd had to use the orchestra room. Thus the grand piano in the corner. Austria took to playing it after the meeting to keep his mind occupied. The other countries enjoyed the music, until Austria stopped. When questioned, he responded,

 

“I was about to play the Fantasy in F minor, D. However, it is a duet.” He looked at the other countries. “I don't suppose any of you, gentlemen, know the song?”

 

Silence. Did none of them know the piano? Germany should, being home to wonderful composers as Beethoven or Mozart, but he had no interest in creating music. France played the accordion, as did Russia, and the Italies were masterful at the violin, cello and alike. But none of them played the piano.

 

Seconds passed. At their end, footsteps sounded. England walked towards the piano, his steps light and elegant. Austria's gaze fixated on him.

 

“Would you conceive me the honour?”

 

To answer, Austria slid left in his seat, indicating he'd play the treble clef. England took the place of the bass clef, and they played. Veneziano could only stare in awe. Their hands glided over the keys, a light touch here and sinking in there. It was fluid harmony, the sound fluttering in the room and breathing in their ears. It was peace. In a way, the piano piece signified the war was over. Nations from two of the opposing sides, playing a song together, was as the first stitch which would join the world together again. It was a beautiful end to the meeting.

 

When the Fantasy in F Minor, D ended, Veneziano clapped. Others followed.

 

~=o=~

 

 _ **The second time Veneziano saw England play the piano**_ , it was in a business meeting.

 

The Italies had stayed in the UK siblings' house for a few days to discuss trade. In one of these, Veneziano woke up earlier and heard a soft playing from downstairs.

 

Curious, Veneziano skipped down the stairs, forgetting he wore only a nightshirt. On the lounge, England played a soulful melody and Northern Ireland listened to it, smiling.

 

It was the first time Veneziano had ever England so calm, so… at ease. It almost pained him how England wasn't at ease anywhere else — only with his family. But if England could be so calm, perhaps Veneziano didn't have to fear him so.

 

The song finished in a happy note.

 

“You may come down, Veneziano.”

 

Northern Ireland's voice startled him and he stumbled down the stairs, almost falling. England stood, ready to help him, but he managed to stabilise himself.

 

“Sorry,” he said, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. England shook his head.

 

“It's no problem.” He motioned to the sofa. “Please sit down. Or do you prefer to, ah…” he glanced at Veneziano, “change your attire?”

 

Realising his lower half was still nude, Veneziano blushed and ran up the stairs to put clothing on. He thought he heard North laugh. England sighed and sat back at the piano, shaking his head with a smile.

 

“He likes your playing,” poked North. He looked at her. She smiled. “He was staring at you. You two should try and see if you have any other common interests.”

 

“…Don't be silly, North,” England stared at the keys. “Us spending time together is a laughable idea.” _He wouldn’t take interest in me_.

 

North stood.

 

“If you're going to be like that, no-one will take interest in you, indeed.” Her tone let stones fall after her as she strolled to the kitchen. “I'll make breakfast for Wales, Scotland, and our guests. Tomorrow, you should.”

 

Veneziano hopped down the stairs, skipping steps. This time, he wore a light blue shirt and trousers.

 

“Ve~ Mister England, I forgot to tell you, your playing is beautiful!” Said Veneziano, grinning, hands swinging a little at his sides. England looked at him.

 

“…Thank you, Veneziano,” he said. Steps sounded behind Veneziano. “Good morning, Romano.”

 

“Whatever, whatever,” grumbled Romano. “Where's breakfast?” He rubbed his eyes.

 

“Kitchen.” Romano trudged past them towards the cup of coffee on the table. Veneziano giggled.

 

“Mister England~ do you think we could spend more time together?”

 

He knew he was being bold, but he wanted to make friends with England, and this could be the last opportunity he'd get in decades. England's eyes widened and he was wordless for a moment. Veneziano frowned, afraid he'd gone too far.

 

England smiled.

 

“Well, if we are going to, a good first step would be to leave the ‘Mister’ when addressing me.” His tone was warm, and hid immense joy behind it. Veneziano grinned and cheered.

 

“Oi! Be quiet!” Shouted Scotland from upstairs, eliciting laughter from everyone – except Romano.

 

~=o=~

 

 _ **The third time Veneziano saw England play the piano**_ , it was because he suggested it.

 

Veneziano was over for a visit. He and England had spent more time together since the trade discussion, and Veneziano popped by the UK siblings' house to visit sometimes. They were always happy he was over – it was a nice change from the usual grumpiness from everybody, said North once.

 

When he knocked on the door, Scotland answered. His angry expression softened when he saw Veneziano, not before scaring him a little.

 

“Ah, it's you. Thank the gods, come in.” He opened the door and stepped away, closing it after Veneziano walked inside. “England's in a bad mood. Go cheer 'im up. He's in his room.”

 

“Eh?” Veneziano's eyes widened. “What happened?” He furrowed his brow. Scotland shrugged.

 

“Go find out yerself. It ain't lack of tea, I had a cuppa this morning.” He sat on the sofa. “Wales and North are shopping,” he informed. “England's a dick when he's in a bad mood, so they wanted to get away. I wanted to go too, but apparently he needs supervision now.”

 

Veneziano raised an eyebrow and walked upstairs. He put on a smile. England couldn't be in that bad of a mood, right? He knocked on the door of England's room.

 

“Go the fuck away, Scotland!”

 

…Maybe he was in such a bad mood.

 

“It's Veneziano!” He shouted back. A few seconds of silence made him tense.

 

The door opened in a fast motion. Before Veneziano was England, in green pyjamas, trying and failing to conceal an angry expression. Ignoring it, Veneziano grinned.

 

“Ve~! England!” Before England could reply, Veneziano hugged him around the waist and spun him around with surprising strength. England yelped and hung onto Veneziano. After a few spins, Veneziano put him down. “How are you? Scotland said you were in a bad mood!”

 

England regained his balance.

 

“Hello, Veneziano. Yes, I am in a bad mood.” He glared at the floor. “Fucking Scotland,” he sighed. “Come into my room, I suppose.”

 

He closed the door after them.

 

“What happened?” Asked Veneziano, looking around. The bed was unmade, the desk was messy and the closet doors, open. He looked at the open laptop on the table, displaying an email. England caught his stare.

 

“That's from my editor. They rejected my book, after all.” England dropped on his bed. “Again.” A long, drawn-out sigh. Veneziano's eyes widened.

 

“Why would they? It's amazing!” He exclaimed, raising his arms. England shook his head.

 

“Not to them.”

 

Furrowing his brow, Veneziano sat next to England. He smiled his best comforting smile.

 

“Well, to me it's amazing. All your stories are amazing,” he said in a near-whisper. England turned his head to him.

 

“Even the one with the crazy balloon man?” Despite his tone, he was smiling.

 

“…Most of your stories are amazing.”

 

They laughed. Veneziano got up and offered a hand to England.

 

“Come on, let's go outside! The editor can go screw himself!” Without waiting for England's response, he yanked him standing. Veneziano gasped. “Wait! You know that piano piece you named ‘letting go’? You could play that one! It'll help you let go!”

 

England knitted his brow. It sounded silly, but it could work; music did calm him. He smiled and nodded. Veneziano tugged at his wrist and dragged him downstairs. They almost fell in their climbing down the steps in four seconds. Scotland wasn't in the lounge any more, so he wasn't there to see England in his pyjamas. They caught their breath, and Veneziano motioned towards the piano. England sat down and played.

 

Hearing the music, Scotland turned his head to the window. He took his cigarette off his mouth. England, playing the piano in pyjamas. How bloody ridiculous. At least he looked happy. Veneziano, beside him, was happy too. Scotland smiled. England cheered up so quick with Veneziano there; one could almost say they were falling in love.

 

~=o=~

 

 _ **The fourth time Veneziano saw England play the piano**_ , they were in a shopping centre.

 

It was in the USA. Veneziano had convinced England to go on vacation to New York during autumn. After getting ice cream, they'd gone into one of the many shopping centres of the city. It was huge. They enjoyed strolling among the shops, and even bought some items – like a pen for writing musical score, green and red hair chalk, and a 0.1 millimetre ink pen.

 

When they tried to remember the way out, though, they discovered they'd gotten lost.

 

“I'm sure the exit is that way.”

 

“No, we came from there, remember?”

 

After a lot of random strolling, they came across a grand piano set in the middle of the cross section. They’d seen it before that afternoon. According to a pamphlet, it was there for propaganda of a music school. There was a person watching it, but anybody could try playing. Well, at least they knew it was near the exit.

 

Veneziano sat on the stool and pressed a random key, deciding to experiment. He soon found his notes, and played the simplest version of Twinkle Little Star. England hummed along, to his surprise.

 

“I converted the twelve variations to the violin once,” remarked Veneziano.

 

“Oh?” England smiled.

 

“A few decades ago. I think I still have the sheet at home.” Veneziano slid left on the stool and England sat on it, putting their bag on the floor.

 

“Funny you should mention the twelve variations,” he said, positioning his hands on the keys. “Help me on the first?” He looked at Veneziano, who grinned and put his hand on the piano.

 

They played the first variation together. It was slow, as England adjusted to Veneziano's pace, but it was sweet. After the first variation, Veneziano removed his hand and England's took its place. The variation changed, the tempo increased, the playing itself sounded more experienced.

 

Throughout the variations, Veneziano watched England's hand motions with intent. People gathered around the piano to watch, which gave the music school the opportunity to try and convince them to join it. England ignored his surroundings, in a world with only him, Veneziano and the piano. Veneziano bobbed his head along, and sometimes hummed along to the song. He came back to reality only when he finished the piece.

 

Clapping erupted, startling both England and Veneziano. He stood and bowed to them, a little awkward. The music school even tried to hire him as a teacher, to which he declined. They walked through the dispersing crowd and to the exit of the shopping centre.

 

Well, now Veneziano knew the moment he'd fallen for England.

 

~=o=~

 

 _ **The fifth time Veneziano saw England play the piano**_ , it was his lullaby.

 

They were at the Italies' house – England had come to visit for once. Seborga had taken an interest on the piano as of late, so he bought an upright piano and put it on the parlour. When he saw Seborga playing Für Elise, England tilted his head.

 

“Positioning your hands like that will give you cramps on the long run,” he offered. Seborga stared at him for a moment.

 

“How should I position them, then?” He spread his hands in front of the piano. England guided him, explaining.

 

In the meantime, Romano stomped into the room. As soon as England finished explaining, he dragged Seborga to his room, complaining about ‘bad playing at this ungodly hour’. Veneziano giggled, then yawned. God, was he sleepy. England noticed.

 

“We should go to sleep as well,” suggested England, standing.

 

“No.” Veneziano grabbed his arm and made him sit back down. Veneziano lay curled up on the sofa, his head on England's lap. England blushed heavily, bringing his hands up. He was used to Veneziano's hugs, but he'd never lied on his lap before.

 

“A-ah, Veneziano, don't you think it's better if you sleep in your bed?”

 

Veneziano shook his head.

 

“Play me a lullaby,” he mumble-demanded, looking at England's eyes. They stayed like that for a moment, their eyes shining, Veneziano's with sleepiness and England's with a bit of embarrassment. England sighed, putting his hands on the piano. His hands were a little crooked, but it worked.

 

He played a soft, comforting melody. Veneziano closed his eyes as England sang along with it. Veneziano didn't recognise the language, but it didn't matter. England's voice was melodious in a way Veneziano did not expect; it was soothing, low and warm. Made Veneziano think of flowers and calm waters. As he thought this, the sounds mixed, his thoughts blurred, and England's voice and piano carried him away into a peaceful sleep.

 

England smiled at the sleeping Veneziano. He stopped playing and ran his fingers through Veneziano's hair. It was soft, as was his smile.

 

“Goodnight, love,” he whispered.

 

~=o=~

 

G8 conference.

 

Right after it, to be preciser.

 

There had been problems with the orchestra room, and a few instruments would be in the conference room for a few days. Among these instruments, a violin, and a piano.

 

The countries were lazing around, as it was much more comfortable to wait there for their planes instead of the airport. Veneziano inspected the violin on the corner.

 

“Likely handmade…” he mumbled to himself, checking the violin and the bow. He raised the bow and tested notes on it. A professional violin indeed, and tuned to perfection. Veneziano played a part of Liebesfreud and grinned. He looked at the other nations.

 

“England~!” He called, waving, and motioned to the piano. “Be my accompaniment?”

 

England stood and walked to the piano. His steps were light and elegant. Veneziano observed as he sat on the stool of the Bösendorfer piano.

 

“3, 2, 1–!”

 

Music filled the room; strong, elegant, pleasant. Veneziano's hands and arm glided, quick as a hummingbird's beating wings, producing notes heavy with emotion. England's hands were light on the keys; he let his feelings guide them, making his notes flutter. Together, England's piano and Veneziano's violin seamed a soulful, heartfelt melody.

 

When they finished, there was applause. England stood and, together, they bowed to the audience. They looked into each other's eyes.

 

Words were dispensable, they figured. Their music had said all they needed to know.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a little disappointing, but it passes  
> hope you enjoyed!


End file.
